


The Touch of Your Hand

by KahtyaSofia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, M/M, YAGKYAS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/KahtyaSofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad and Nate are suddenly reunited after a tumultuous night and a long separation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Touch of Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the exquisite Nigeltide who both challenged me and kept me honest.

Brad was standing on Mike’s back patio talking to Poke, Pappy and their wives. The party at Mike Wynn’s house was gearing up, most of the guys had arrived, and the alcohol was flowing. It was bound to get interesting in the next hour or two. The grill was lit so mesquite-scented smoke wafted through the yard. He had a beer in his hand and fellow warriors surrounding him. Brad was feeling pretty fucking Zen.

 

A warm hand settled in the small of his back, just above the waist of his jeans. Brad should have reacted quickly; pulled away and sharply advised the unwise guest that it wasn’t smart to touch a Marine without warning, but the touch was just familiar enough that he pulled up short. That was how Nate used to touch him…

 

_Nate._

 

Brad glanced around, looking for the offender, and the world dropped out from beneath his feet. Nate Fick stood there, hand resting on Brad’s back like it had all those times in theater when they’d managed to carve out quiet moments to regain their sanity. He was smiling at Brad, warm and inviting.

 

That smile had haunted Brad’s memories and his dreams and pair of green eyes flashing with intelligence, humor, and challenge always accompanied it.

 

Brad stepped abruptly to the side in surprise and was immediately disappointed to feel Nate snatch his hand away as if he’d been burned. His expression showed little, but Brad recognized a flash of frustration just before he turned to exchange enthusiastic greetings with Espera and Pappy. He gave himself a swift mental kick in the ass. Christ, but he was sick of letting Nate down.

 

Brad could still feel the phantom imprint of Nate’s hand on his skin. His palm itched with the urge to cover the spot with his own hand. What the fuck was Nate Fick doing in California, let alone in Mike Wynn’s backyard? Brad swallowed hard against the anxiety and the excitement rising in his throat.

 

“I’m in town as a guest lecturer at Cal State San Marcos. Mike said I should swing by the party and say ‘hi’,” Nate said, as more and more men converged on their position. That answered that, Brad supposed.

 

He had questions for Nate; things he needed to know, things he needed to say, even if it meant sounding like an emo pussy. But, since he’d turned tail and fled like a chicken shit the last time he’d seen Nate, Brad was going with pussy this time.  He was going to have to get Nate away from the knitting circle surrounding them first, and from the looks of it, that wasn’t going to happen soon.

 

Nate’s smile was wide and genuine as he was greeted over and over by Marines he’d known. Their affection and enthusiasm for his presence was palpable. Brad watched Nate closely; he made eye contact easily with those around him but didn’t look at Brad.

 

His gut clenched. He’d fucked up again.

 

Brad had known his path would eventually cross Nate’s again, he just hadn’t expected their reunion to be so public and impersonal. Nate looked relaxed and jovial, but Brad knew just how well he hid his true emotions.

 

Brad was almost done with his beer and Nate hadn’t glanced back at him once. He reminded himself that this was why he avoided relationships, why he didn’t do emotions. He fucking sucked at it.

 

He tossed his empty into the trashcan and pulled two more bottles from the cooler, then pushed his way back into the tight cluster of Marines.

 

“All right, gents,” Brad said loudly. “Give the Captain some breathing room.” When he reached Nate’s side he handed over one of the bottles of beer. Something knotted in Brad’s chest when Nate smiled at him brightly and their fingers touched briefly on the chilled surface of the bottle.

 

“Thank you, Brad,” Nate said.

 

Brad found his balls, finally, and spoke directly to Nate. “It’s a pleasant surprise, sir, but it’s still a surprise to see you here.”

 

“Mike and I agreed it would be fun not to warn anyone I was coming,” Nate replied, taking a deep draught of his beer. Brad watched his throat as he swallowed. He took a quick swig of his own beer to wet his suddenly dry mouth.

 

Nate continued to catch everyone up on what he’d been doing since his last trip to California. In turn, they all regaled him with their own stories, many of which centered on how bad their command had gotten in the wake of Nate’s departure.

 

The message was clear: his men sorely missed Nate.

 

Brad stayed at Nate’s side, leaving only to get them both fresh beers. It wasn’t technically where Brad had belonged, that was more Gunny’s position. But Nate as Platoon Leader and Brad as Team Leader had gotten them across Mesopotamia. This was just where Brad needed to be.

 

Nate included him in the conversations, now, to Brad’s pleasure and relief. He met Brad’s eyes frequently, which did nothing to slow Brad’s pounding heart. From time to time, Nate would get Brad’s attention with a brush of his fingers along the back of Brad’s hand. More than once, Nate rested his hand on Brad’s forearm to emphasize Brad’s role in the story being told. The effort to not drag Nate into a darkened room and pick up where Brad had stupidly made them leave off on that fucked up night was taking its toll. When Brad leaned in to quietly ask if Nate needed anything, he felt Nate’s hand land on the small of his back again.

 

Everywhere Nate touched Brad left him feeling burned, branded and fucking claimed. It had been the same when Nate had touched him casually in Iraq, and later when he’d touched Brad with intent. He had never stood a chance.

 

When everyone filled their plates and began to eat, Brad saw his opportunity. He deftly cut Nate from the herd of Marines and finally got him alone. They didn’t have any privacy, so Brad was just going to have to make do. Together, they perched on a low retaining wall on the far side of Mike’s yard. The food was only camouflage and both plates were set aside, untouched.

 

“How long are you in town for, sir?” Brad asked, trying to sound casual and pretty sure that he failed.

 

“Please, Brad, drop the sir.” Nate sounded almost sad.

 

“I’m not sure I can,” Brad said. “My respect for you doesn’t really have to do with rank.”

 

“Just try.” Nate met Brad’s eyes and he looked determined and not a little frustrated.  “You wouldn’t stop calling me ‘sir’ the night things went to shit between us.”

 

Brad knew he’d fucked things up between them, and it hadn’t been by calling Nate ‘sir’. He’d pushed Nate away, instead of returning his kiss, his cold tone and harsh words as effective as a shove. He’d told Nate everything but the truth, that night.

 

“Roger that,” Brad murmured. “So, how long are you in town for?” His luck made it too much to hope for more time than just a day or two.

 

“I didn’t want to say anything publicly until I’d had a chance to tell you.” Nate took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m not here as a guest lecturer. I’m teaching two courses. I’m here for the better part of a year.”

 

Brad stared hard at Nate for several long seconds, sure that he had heard wrong. Nate Fick, in California, uninterrupted, for almost a year. Things like that, things that mattered, didn’t just fall into Brad’s lap. Ever.

 

“Why should I be the first to know?” Brad knew what he wanted the answer to be.

 

“Because if things are always going to be awkward between us, I’m going to run out of excuses for why I can’t hang out with you guys.”  Nate’s words were rapid and clipped, like he didn’t like what he was having to say. It reminded Brad of all the times Nate had repressed his frustration at having to hand out idiot orders from Command.

 

“I shouldn’t dictate your social calendar, Nate.” Brad glanced away, afraid Nate would see how torn he was; daring to hope that they might fix this and still afraid that they would.

 

Nate suddenly gripped Brad’s knee and it shocked his system, almost too much to handle. Still, Brad held his ground.

 

“Anyone could have taught this course, Brad. It didn’t have to be me.”

 

Brad still couldn’t look at Nate’s face, so instead, he watched the hand that gripped his knee. Nate’s hand was strong, long fingered, with manicured nails.  Brad dragged his thumb along the jagged edge of one of his own nails, then sought out several hangnails he had forgotten to clip.  Next to Nate, Brad felt rough and unfinished. He wondered what place he could possibly have in Nate’s life.

 

Nate spoke into the lingering silence. “I need to make things right between us and I don’t think that can be accomplished in a weekend.”

 

“As I recall, I was the one who fled the field of battle,” said Brad. “What is there for you to make right?”

 

“I no sooner had my discharge papers in hand than I was putting you on the spot.” Nate lowered his voice. “I didn’t give you any chance to adjust to the idea of my civilian status.”

 

Leaning forward, Brad rested his elbows on his knees and surreptitiously grazed the knuckles of his trembling fingers over the back of the hand Nate had resting on his knee. He drew in a deep, shaky breath. “I watched you and wanted you from the moment we were introduced at Pendleton. What I had trouble adjusting to was the idea that you might feel the same way about me.” The Crucible had been easier than saying those words.

 

“I made a strategic error, Brad,” said Nate. “I should have talked to you about what I wanted instead of assuming you’d follow wherever I led, including into bed.”

 

Brad released a huffed laugh, running a hand over his mouth. His heart raced in his chest with a sudden hope at Nate’s words. “I probably wouldn’t have let you have your say.”  He shrugged, searching for words. “I’m finally sick of wondering ‘what if’.”

 

“Does this mean I don’t have to spend the better part of the coming year alone, moping around my rented house?” The corner of Nate’s mouth lifted in a tentative smile.

 

Brad didn’t give in to the urge to link his small finger with Nate’s, aware that they were still in full view of the other party guests. Instead, he settled for again running a finger along the back of Nate’s hand. Nate’s harsh exhale was heavily laced with relief.

 

“You lead the way, Nate,” Brad said. “I’ll follow.”


End file.
